In a split second we were running side by side, then the passenger window of the truck went down and a teenage boy, his hair flying in the wind, stuck his head out. He had a big grin on his face.

“Hey, mister,” he yelled. “Your left taillight is out.”

“Yeah—z’at so?” I called in reply.

“Yeah,” he called back. “And with them out-of-county tags on your car, if the sheriff gets ahold of you, it’ll be a big ticket. Just thought you’d like to know. Might save you some trouble.”

“Okay. Thanks, bubba,” I shouted back.

“Aw’right. Y’all have a good un,” he yelled.

The boy put up his window, the driver tromped down on the gas pedal, and leaping ahead of us, they quickly pulled away. As the truck’s taillights faded to red dots in the distance, I put my pistol back in the console. I heard the click of the safety going back on as Patricia also put her gun away.

I glanced over at Patricia. “Thought for a few seconds there we were about to have ourselves a Deliverance moment.”

“Is that what you call it? I thought Deliverance happened up in the mountains.”

“It’s a metaphor, Detective, for unpleasant encounters with rustic natives,” I deadpanned.

“Well. At least they were friendly natives,” she responded. “But you did get that part about the sheriff and out-of-county tags, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but so what? It’s a time-honored Southern tradition for the police to prey on outsiders.”

“Really?” she retorted. “And just where did you get that idea?”

I glanced over again and saw that she really was piqued at my comment. “From every small community, rural county, and GI town I’ve ever been in,” I replied. “And don’t look so hurt about it. Savannah may cater to visitors—after all, tourism is a big money maker for the city. But out in the hinterlands, the stranger is often viewed as an unclaimed sheep, ready for the shearing.”

I glanced back over again and saw a sly smile.

“Okay, Tanner. But now that the excitement is over, get us to town. I’m still hungry.”

Forty minutes later we were sitting in a little Thai restaurant, sipping Japanese beer and working on a large plate of chicken larb. I spooned the larb onto a lettuce leaf, rolled it into the shape of a taquito, and took a bite.

“Delicious,” I said with a sigh before taking another bite.

Patricia took a bite, then a sip of beer, and dabbed her lips with her napkin.

“The preacher have anything useful?” she asked as she rolled another lettuce leaf.

“Background, really. Nothing solid. But it does speak to Tonya’s overall state of mind. He said she felt small.”

Patricia sat silently a second before replying, “Small equals vulnerable.”

“That’s my thought exactly,” I responded.

“Well, if that’s the case, maybe you can . . .”